If you asked an doctor or scientist they would say it wasn't possible. They had nothing inside their heads to hurt, no lungs to cough and no stomachs to ache.

Many things don't make perfect sense in the land of the dead, they still had to eat and slept even though they would not die if they didn't. It simply made them more comfortable. Therefore it should not be possible for a skeleton to get sick.

Then why did she feel so rotten?

Ay, even in death they could not escape the common cold.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

She awoke that morning with a pounding in her skull and heavy feeling in her chest. Undoubtedly Victoria was ill. Her family will freak. Groaning, she rubbed her temples.

She had a decision to make, go down stairs and trudge through the day hopefully unnoticed or call out for her papa or tia to take care of her. 'Choose the last one!' Her body and mind called out to her as she sat up, her stubbornness and pride sent out a different message. Victoria huffed. Pulling herself off her bed sighing softly- the air around her was cold, chilly. Dust in the air too. God she needs to clean her bookshelves more often. Bedsheets clinging to her, she felt hot and unwell; just like she had before she… she uh.

She shook the thought from her head, 'I can't die now, I'm already dead.'

Through the door someone was softly calling her name ripping her from her thoughts.

"Victoria, are you coming?" Tio Oscar's voice beckoned her. Oh this was going to be such a long day.

The pains in her head jostled around when she tries to stand on her feet, disorientating her for a moment and sending a ringing in her ear. Slowly her vision and senses came back. She managed to pull her clothing on within an acceptable amount of time before declaring herself decent enough to venture downstairs.

Greeted by her family's smiling faces at the table, she sat down, keeping her head low and eyes partially closed. She was sure the breakfast would have smelled delicious on any other day but today the smell reeked and made a stomach she didn't have churn. Recoiling back a bit when her food was placed in front of her, her hair brushed against her tia Rosita, allowing her a moment where she could have seen disgust plastered to Victoria's face.

"Mija, are you alright?" Oh shoot.

"I'm fine Tia." Victoria brushed off her inquiry.

After a moment of hesitation, Rosita told her, "If you're sure Ria." Using her nickname caught her very off guard. That specific name she hadn't been called in several decades, almost since she died, her family never shortened her name. Shrugging it away she wouldn't let it bother her for any longer. She shivered.

Somehow she fakes her way through breakfast, picking at her food but never actually taking more than one bite. Out of the corner of her eye she could see her father looking at her suspiciously, his moustache moving as he ate away at his breakfast. He was glancing back and forth between her and his food with a furrowed brow.

In the workshop she continues on, her back to everyone else so they couldn't see the pained looks on her face. The lights were turned away as they stung her eyes. Her needlework was slow and sloppy, she would keep having to go back to fix mistakes, her normally still hands had become shaky, making sewing even more tricky. Hector's guitar sat in the corner untouched, Oscar and Felipe were just behind her at their workstation, being unusually quiet. Strange. Victoria was thankful for the silence nonetheless, sitting there would be much more difficult if it was her headache against their noise.

Eventually she couldn't suppress a groan as the pain in her head intensified. Fear overwhelmed her mind as she felt her families gazes land on her like darts, positively trembling in her chair. Tia Rosita suddenly rescued her from being the centre of attention, declaring she was going to start lunch, the twins hastily leapt from their stools and Hector blazed out of the room. Imelda also made haste toward the kitchen, not stopping on the way past but still giving Victoria a warm pat on the back. This left her alone in the room with her father. "Papa…" she started, leaning around to him. Julio's face was stern yet worried. He was concerned. Understandably, last time he saw either one of his daughters ill, it left a great, unfilled hole in his heart.

Something caused Victoria to feel a guilty twinge where her heart had been. She left them behind. When she died they all watched her go.

Julio's hand wondered onto her back, stroking it lightly. Prompting her, "Mija, go to your bed, you aren't well." Victoria however, had little intent to listen, "Papa I…" She never had the opportunity to finish her sentence, her timid father suddenly turned sharp.

"Victoria go to bed." Julio's voice was barely a yell yet it could inflict the same affect as Mama Imelda's stern screams. He hadn't perhaps intended to use that tone of voice. Maybe it was too harsh. He wanted to sound concerned, not angry. It was too late too find out, Victoria picked herself up off her stool and in a flash she was gone, upstairs out of sight.

Julio leaned back, fanning himself stressfully, with his straw hat.

"Ay."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

In her bedroom Victoria looked around. The room was freezing even with her little wood burner blazing away in the corner, giving off a soft orange glow. The glow reached all edges of the room, dousing it in sunset colours. Books sat on shelves and in stacks, seemingly unorganised, yet Victoria knew each book was exactly in its place- able to point to anyone of them without reading the title and naming it correctly every time.

Even Victoria's intelligent mind could not bother with reading at the moment, all she felt like was putting on bed clothes and burrowing beneath her blankets. Lazily, she done just that. As she settled into her bed, boots could be heard coming up the stairs, the footsteps weren't too heavy, they were swift and composed. Mama Imelda's. Was she going to come talk to her? A lecture perhaps? Victoria contemplated pretending to be asleep, but that was ridiculous; she wasn't four.

Imelda's bones gripped onto the door handle, hesitating momentarily before pushing gently. Behind the door her ill granddaughter sat up in her bed rubbing her temples.

Fear plucked at Victoria for an instant then fell away, her abeula looked uneasy.

"Victoria?"

"Abeulita?" The silence hung in the air, both voices echoed off the other. Imelda approached the bed, her hand instantly crawled onto Victoria's cheek bone. Pulling her skull gently, she kissed the pattern on her forehead. Her markings were much more subtle than most of the family's, Rosita had large, hot pink markings, Imelda herself had noticeably prominent patterns. Small, pink dots and yellow streaks were all Victoria had. They were certain it was a reflection of their personalities. Stern and shy, Victoria was the most reluctant to speak her mind and feelings. She was stoic and inward. Tremors shook her like a rag doll, the air didn't feel cold to Imelda but that didn't mean it wasn't for Victoria. Eyeing the drawers Imelda tried to think which contained what… in the end she dug in the second lowest one, the back of the drawer revealed more modern, but warmer clothes. They all kept a few pairs of somethings, jeans and thick jackets. Most modern clothes were better made than theirs, occasionally they came in handy for cold nights and power outages but never got worn outside. It was more practical to wear a coat than a shawl after all.

Imelda picked out a woolly robe, closing the drawer with a wooden clack. Unfolding it and wrapping it around her granddaughter, Imelda began, "Your Papa didn't mean it, he doesn't want to upset you."

Stuttering, Victoria pushed back, "He didn't… I'm not upset… I… he,"

"He just worries mija." Imelda reassured while adjusting the robe. Bones clicked against bones, her hands again grabbing very tightly. "We all do," her eyes turned to the floor, "we love you… next time you should just say. All of us will rush to take care of you."

Victoria doesn't say anything, her face doesn't reveal much either. Imelda cupped her cheekbone, looking sadly into her eyes.

"Go easy on your Papa, he just doesn't want anything to happen to you. You know what happened last time…" she trailed off, Victoria pulled back. Did she upset her? She doesn't like talking about her death. Imelda blinked back very sudden tears. Guilt pulled at her heart. She closed her eyes tightly, once she opened them the world seemed different. Victoria looked young. No, she was not a child, she wasn't a teenager, yet if she was lost in the seas of older and wiser people Imelda could say she was young. When you die you can no longer age physically, and mentally most things don't change. Yes, you learn new things and maybe you age a little, but the fundamental parts of being young don't change. And for the first time in awhile it dawned on Imelda how young her granddaughter was when she died. Her mother and sister were still alive, Julio and Rosita had been alive when she died too.

When Victoria arrived it was really shocking. She was a complete wreck for weeks. As it turned out she got very sick, very fast, too sick for doctors to save her and too fast to say goodbye. It must hurt. Not being given a chance to say goodbye had to have stung a lot. Imelda let's a few tears drip down her cheek, she wipes them away quicker than they appeared. Stroking Victoria's hair she says "Rest mija, espero que te sientas mejor." Imelda kissed her granddaughter one last time, enclosing her in a bone-shattering hug almost forgetting she needed to let go.

As she finally pulls away she realised Victoria is almost asleep- best to leave her in peace. They can't help but adore and baby her. She is the baby of the family. No matter what age she is, or what age she was when she died, Victoria can't escape it.

Stepping downstairs Imelda is much quieter; calmer. The others relax when they notice her, unwinding the tension. Rosita looks up from her cooking with a smile towards Julio that none of the others quite catch, Julio unburied his head from his rib cage with a long sigh. He wiped at tears that weren't really there before moving on to stroke his moustache. Calm. 'She's likely asleep' he tells himself, 'talk to her later."

Rosita preoccupies herself with the cooking, quietly putting on some soup for Victoria. She hadn't eaten her breakfast, she would be hungry later, and even if she wasn't she would have to eat eventually. Rosita finished up making the lunch, with Imelda's help of course. It wasn't long before everyone clean their plates and went back to constructing shoes. She watched, absentmindedly as Imelda taught Hector how to thread a needle. In her mind she played out the scene with Victoria again.

Victoria was such a difficult sole to understand, it took patience and true interest in her to open up the real Victoria. Her sister-in-law had tried her absolute hardest with Victoria, they could not be more different. Coco wore her emotions on her sleeve while Victoria kept hers in her pocket. Talking and understanding wasn't in Victoria's nature which was tricky for Coco to comprehend.

Julio was entirely the opposite. While he doesn't truly understand however, he tries, in a much more helpful way. He would never attempt to force her into conversation with him. He never pushed her too far out of her comfort zone, if she needed to sit quietly with a book for several hours, he sat with her. He offered her things even when she would never actually accept. Time after time, he never gave in. Julio would never let his daughter think he stopped caring.

Rosita admired her brother for this. Patience was his middle name.

And the bond between them only got stronger in death.

After enough time passed, Rosita got out of her seat, heated soup in her hands. She walked up to Victoria's door and knocked. At the absence of a reply she pushed on the handle, swinging the wooden door open -quietly- she won't want to wake her. In the corner of the tiny room, Victoria lay, black hair splayed across the pillow cases and soft, fluttering breaths played out in the silence.

Lovingly glancing down at her niece's face Rosita sighed, in the end she needed to wake her up but she just looked so peaceful.

"Mija, wake up." Tia Rosita whispered gently into Victoria's ear as she slowly tried to rock her awake. Victoria stirred, a little confused but otherwise okay.

"Tia?" Rosita nodded, sitting down on the edge of the bed, tucking the covers back to keep her sobrinita warm. "Yes nina." She said.

Rosita watched as Victoria screwed her face up and swallowed back a sob. "Tia Rosita, I feel awful." She whined. Whining was a very un-Victoria-like thing to do. It meant she must be feeling extra bad. When Rosita brushed at her hair with her hand, Victoria's skull felt hot and her eyes looked hazy.

"I know honey, I know mija." Rosita hushed, pulling Victoria into a (much gentler than normal) bear hug and peaking her cheeks with a kiss. "Do you want anything? Are you too hot? Too cold? Do you feel better than earlier or worse?" She bombarded her with questions, almost too many for her to handle in that moment. It was startling to see her niña so sick again, sickness was what pulled them apart in the first place and Rosita was determined not to let it ever happen again, even if she knew that it was impossible.

As a child Victoria had been an incredible sickly thing. She was almost never out of her bed it seemed. Most of Rosita's memories of Victoria as a child were of reading books with her in bed and feeding her soup. Oh it was sad to watch her grow up like that, as a stick-thin little weedy girl, Rosita had always been under the assumption that she was skinny because she was ill and never because of genetics. But since she met Hector that had thankfully been proven wrong.

She watched as Victoria studied her, carefully taking in the expression on her face. "I'm too cold." Victoria stated sharply and quietly.

Looking around, there already was every layer of blanket and clothing on top of her, not to mention the small wood burner blazing heat in the corner. Rosita wasn't really sure what more she could do for her.

Then, almost bashfully, Victoria asked, "Rosita, will you fill up the bathtub for me?" And Rosita nearly giggled. It was such a small, trivial thing, yet it meant the world to them. As a little girl, Rosita would put Victoria in the bath anytime she didn't feel well, and afterwards they would watch her favourite telenovela, or read a book together or sometimes Victoria would let Rosita play with her hair and put it in pretty braids.

Those were the best times.

"Of course mija," Rosita kissed her cheek gently, "I'll be right back." She tucked the covers tighter again, fussing over her one last time before walking out of the room and into the bathroom.

The water splished and splashed as it poured out of the tap, it was steaming hot, just like Victoria always liked it. Humming softly as she moved, she poured in some bubble bath, before strutting out of the room to fetch her sobrinita. Victoria shuffled out of her room with Rosita next to her, slipping away from the world and into the bathroom. Tia Rosita hung outside the door, standing guard just in case.

She let her memories play through her head, enjoying the best ones with a smile on her face and gave a downcast frown at bad few. Letting her head sink completely underwater felt good, hot water burned away the uncomfortable feelings. The world washed away in the silence.